Our Daily Becoming
--Adam Clay 

Like animals moving daily
through the same open field,
it should be easier to distinguish
light from dark, fabrications 

from memory, rain on a sliver
of grass from dew appearing
overnight. In these moments
of desperation, a sentence 

serves as a halo, the moon
hidden so the stars eclipse
our daily becoming. You think
it should be easier to define 

one’s path, but with the clouds
gathering around our feet,
there’s no sense in retracing
where we’ve been or where 

your tired body will carry you.
Eventually the birds become
confused and inevitable. Even our
infinite knowledge of the forecast 

might make us more vulnerable
than we would be in drawn-out
ignorance. To the sun
all weeds eventually rise up.